settingIndex was once a small and close-knit community, but the town located on the western side of Washington state has grown in recent years beyond anyone's expectations. It is the ideal place for those who work in Seattle but can't afford the city's high real estate prices, and for others the natural beauty attracts them to the town. And Index truly is a beautiful place - surrounded by thick evergreen trees, tall mountains and glistening rivers and lakes. While weather is typically rainy with overcast skies even this does nothing to take away from the beauty of the town, and it is only highlighted further when the heavy snow graces the town and caps the mountains in winter. To many, Index would seem like a paradise. And yet lurking beneath this visual beauty there is more to this town than anyone might ever imagine...

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The irony of a priest being told of the difficulties in finding a soul willing to believe was not lost on me. And ones inclination to perceive me as nothing but a man of the cloth was a solid reminder of the benefits of deception. One could not rely on their eyes or ears alone, and trust in that wholly. I was certain most would be surprised of all the sweet old women that came to mass, but slept with a shotgun by their bed. Something that your ears and eyes could not tell you or show you simply by witnessing them walk through the doors of the church. I did not consider that a sinful deception, and I probably never would.

I had expected her to vocalize the usual. Fornication with a man that was not her husband. Theft of a lipstick from her supermarket. Dishonesty towards her mother or father. The list of mundane sins that one felt obligated to confess in order to secure themselves in the good graces of God was infinite. And more or less, I had developed a list of automated responses. I could provide guidance, this I was sure, and I could provide solace in most situations, but upon hearing the same thing over and over again from within a confessional, one could not help but recite from memory. It was hard to absolve one of their sins in a way that catered to their particular personality when more or less, they were a stranger to you.

And it was this particular moment when I realized my automated responses would not work. It was not often, hearing the voice on the other side of the decorative screen speak the word vampire so casually. Was it not my moral obligation as a man of god, and a warrior against supernatural beings to go above and beyond for the soul on the other side? Did I believe in coincidence? Or was it fate? Her name alone had caught my attention, but now... God never provided a sign when you asked for it, but when he did... It came in bright flashing lights and an arrow pointing you in the direction to travel. And I found myself at a crossroads. I had been a lost traveler, running aimless circles in the wake of Lenny's disappearance. I could not ignore these signs no more than I could ignore a fallen friend.

I tucked my finger between my collar and my neck, sliding it from side to side to loosen it's noose like grip against my skin. I am certain you know what I will recommend for penance. Leaving the vampire blood in your past is the only way to find forgiveness and regain your footing on the path you are meant to walk. I maintained my usual role in a situation such as this. I would not consider this side of myself a character, but with no other way to describe it, I could only stress the importance of staying in character in this moment in time. I did not know the body on the other side of the decorative screen, I did not recognize the soul, or find familiarity in what little of her personality had been laid bare. I only recognized the name, it would be foolish to assume anything.

He wasn’t going to give me actual answers. Which is not why I was sitting here. No-one could do that for me, and I also didn’t want them to. The fact he was offering up actual advice instead of a number of prayers to mumble off lifted him a few rungs on the ‘Priests I like ladder’. Something I had just invented. “Just how do you think I’m going to do that huh? It’s not like I just woke up one morning and thought…fuck! You know what I feel like doing today? Drinking the blood of walking corpses, that’s what!” Laughing bitterly I looked once more at my phone, my face twisting in pain. “Sometimes I feel like I’m being watched, but I can’t tell if that’s paranoia from the Fanger Juice or there really is someone making sure I keep taking the shit.” Being in a constant state of nervous emotional static was getting to me. While finding Wolves, now knowing I wasn’t the only one, had alleviated a lot of the strain, I was still strung out.

“I’d need help anyway, if I was to rip that monkey off my back.” It wasn’t going to be like coming down off coke, not even Heroin. Just trying to get off the shit could kill me. I’d never actually heard of anyone doing it. Not that I’d imagine ex-junkies would broadcast what they used to do in their spare time for kicks. “Chains more than likely, a cage…” I shivered at the very thought. That alone would make me go insane. Even without the withdrawal symptoms. “I’d need someone to feed me, all that stuff….and I don’t imagine anyone is going to raise their hands for that job.” Didn’t even know how long it would take. Could be days, could be weeks.

This priest had also just wandered into the territory of another issue I had. While I kept telling myself over and over again that I was reading and understanding my Prophecy correctly…was I? Was I really? “Does God send you instructions? Like you pray and he sends you his grocery list or whatever?” Strawberry Poptarts. Dr Pepper. Pizza Pockets and Celibacy. I didn’t even wait for the answer to that question before I continued to stampede into another disease that was dripping it’s foulness through my psyche. “How do you know you’re doing it right? If God….” I was going to use his deity so he could understand where I was coming from, and also not kick me out for being a heathen with multiple Gods. “…told me I was to protect the Pack Master, but getting off the vampire blood means I lose some strength, speed so being less effective at defending him….but staying on it means I could die….would God expect me to sacrifice myself for him? Or am I just making excuses?”

Nothing worth doing is ever easy. I admitted, and it applied to her just as much as it applied to myself. Would she drink a bottle labeled ''poison'' willingly? No one that truly wanted to live would, the only difference between the bottle labeled poison, and the unmarked glass bottle containing the red substance she was consuming, was, the second one was a far crueler and drawn out death.

It could be clouding your judgement. It is not unheard of, but the only way to truly know if you are being watched is to clear your mind of that which ails you. Then and only then can you know for certain if what you are experiencing is drug induced paranoia, or not. I often thought of the parallels. Drinking the blood of Christ versus drinking the blood of vampires. Opposites, but in several ways, incredibly similar. But this begged the question, what if she was being watched? My own past experiences dealing with those addicted to the blood of vampires told me one thing, I feared more for those that got in her way than I did for her.

I frowned, unsure of how to react to her suggestion of being caged. But I quickly regained composure and listened intently to what followed. You may be surprised of those willing to help people in situations similar to your own... It was not quite an offer, but it was not a decline either. Something inside of me told me to step away from this one, and I had a tendency to listen to my gut, even if God had given me that big sign with flashing lights telling me to get involved. I was a torn man, in an incredibly complicated situation.

And it was not too long after when another light lit up on that sign, bigger and brighter than all the others as she uttered two words, Pack Master. But myself, in my own trouble and turmoil could see the pieces, but could not quite put them together. It would take time, and because of that, it was my job to make sure she came back for confession again. What if it is you, yourself, in your addiction, that you have been asked to protect this Pack Master from? I spoke eloquently, and calmly as I proposed the option three she might not have considered.

It wasn’t just a saying that humans used to get their kids to mow the fucking lawns. It was just a fact. “Drinking vodka is easy and that’s worth every moment.” I half mumbled to myself but this confessional box had a way of amplifying sound. His voice filled the place to the brim. “Ever seen a wolf come down off Fanger blood? Of course you haven’t. I have. Take any Heroin withdrawal scene from a movie and amplify it. Add in the fact that I’ve never heard of any living through the experience.” It had to be a thing. I refused to believe I was on a one way track to the local graveyard. Just because I had never heard of a single wolf surviving to talk about their miraculous return from being a juice junkie, doesn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Somewhere. To someone. “So it’s more than just fucking hard.”

“Or I can get someone else to tail me.” I was thinking aloud now. This session was getting my mind ticking in ways it hadn’t been before. There was only one person I knew would be safe. He already knew about the blood so could witness that and not go postal. Not that I wanted him to see me jacking up. It was funny that I was now thinking of recruiting a shadow when the Priest….offered his services? Fuck buddy, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. “You offering to help detox me? I’m not joking about a cage, you got one of those lying around huh?”

Loved it how he emphasized Pack Master as if it was a gangster drug lord nickname, or cutesy pet name I was using for a lover. It reminded me how batshit this must all sound to him. Vampires, Wolves. This woman is a total nutbar she would put a Snickers to shame. No matter how much I was making myself laugh internally about the situation his words really…hurt. He was just a fucking Priest who didn’t know shit from clay but….. “I attacked a friend last night.” The ominous words hung in the air in between us and the silence that came afterwards was deafening. “I can never take that back…if I hurt Onyx, if I killed him, just because I was too fucked out of my gord to stop…..then I’d never forgive myself.”

My stomach was turning with this new information. I’d wanted an outsider’s perspective. I was getting one. Be careful what you wish for. “It’s true that I don’t know what I’m meant to be protecting him from….maybe you’re right, and it is me. Doesn’t that mean he’s better off without me around then.” The last part had started as a question, but ended in a statement. “The best way I can follow my destiny is to break ties.” The thought made me feel even worse. Now I knew Ouray was alive I had more than just Onyx to give me that feeling of family but I was greedy. I wanted it all, I wanted them all. “How do you separate love from duty?”

I walked a fine line, mended together by difficult choices, which side I fell towards determined which version of myself would take hold. My sympathies for supernatural kind were finicky at best. On one hand it was my inclination to accept everyone, and when faced with the difficulties of those condemned to their supernatural lives by the actions of others, I often struggled to choose a side in which I would lean. Were they not just victims to the evil of others? Like so many humans before them? I had gone against the organization by joining in the pursuit of vengeance against a single man, a single species. But did that mean wolves and witches were equal to man? When the question forced onto me was put so simply, I had no choice but to answer bluntly and absolutely; No. It was a circuitous road I traveled, reminding myself of the evils of the world. I was bound to take the wrong path occasionally.

I had hardly considered drinking vodka something worth doing. And her choice to vocalize her disagreement in such a simple and disregarding way told me more about her character than I was sure she even knew. The justifications one could make on the path to avoidance were not baffling, they were human. And it was a prime example for why my position as a priest, and my position as a hunter was constantly on the verge of destruction. I cannot say that I have... I admitted honestly. Much like any suffering from addiction, it was not always a choice made in stupidity, but one of unfortunate circumstance. It was another tug at my sympathies for her soul, but only enough to sound out a hollow tune from within, the sound of failure, one I had hoped to never repeat.

It is a misguided notion, that nothing is impossible. As a man of faith I am faced with the complications of wisdom against belief. But hope, faith, belief, these are all things that you must cling to when faced with such adversity if you wish to heal the wound this addiction has opened. What that hope is, faith, belief, that is your own to decide. Know your worth, and fight for it until you cannot fight any longer. As much as it would benefit my organization to see her addiction reach a fatal end, I had made the choice to play my true role as a priest before a hunter in this situation.

I can help you in many ways, and if it is what you wish, I would help you overcome this obstacle. But until you decide that it is doing more harm than good, I am afraid any attempts to aid you would be futile. She had to make the decision. After expressing her potential need for the drug in order to be strong for others, I had no choice but to believe she had not yet reached the point in her path she needed to in order to get clean. It was difficult, but impossible? I could not answer that.

The words that came out of her next had my stomach tense with unease. That impulse to comfort someone so lost, someone so out of control... Someone screaming for help in all of the wrong ways. It took everything I had to shove it down into the pit of my stomach, and that only intensified my discomfort. She is not human. But she could be? The human mind was capable of incredible things. She could have been compelled... Witnessed something she could not explain... The signs are there, she is not of God.I am sorry. My voice cracked with sorrow. My sympathy was more than just an attempt to understand. I could relate all to well to her situation. I too had been the cause of many attacks... Even deaths, some of which had been friends. There was nothing that could erase that pain. It never dulled, it never faded, it only became a part of me, like my skin or hair, though incapable of being shed free. A constant reminder of the importance of solitude. Alone, but eternally surrounded by people.

What is better for him, might not be what is better for you. Sacrifice and destiny often go hand in hand, but knowing how to end up where you are meant to go, what to give up, what sacrifices to make... These are not things I can answer, only you can make those choices. But if you are meant for something, you will achieve it. God will provide. It was her next question that had me digging into the depths of my mind for an answer. Something concrete. It was not a question that was asked often, but it was one that I had struggled with for years. The answer always changed, and when it did not, it was lost to me, as it was her. You cannot. I spoke softly, quietly. Love can not be manipulated. It is with you always, even if it is not with you in the way you hope it to be.